Tag Archives: mid-life crisis

November 26, 2012 · 10:04 pm

I Want, I Want, I Want to be Inspired.

What influenced you to become what you are today? Was it someone you wanted to emulate as kid? Maybe a family member who you looked up too. Was it a celebrity, maybe an astronaut or a famous doctor, politician? For Mrs S she found inspiration a series of  books; Cherry Ames Student Nurse. The books featured a student nurse who solved crimes in her spare time. Proving, and this was rare in books from the 40′s and 50′s, that empowered women could do anything they wanted.

This came to mind recently because I found a bunch of these books at a used book store in Saint Paul, and the find triggered a thought, what inspired me?

These books inspired more than a few girls, Mrs S included, to become nurses, and during the early years of the series, helped the war effort by recruiting nurses for the cause. I didn’t have such great direction in my childhood. While my bride to be was reading about Cherry, Super Sluth Nurse I was reading the Hardy Boys series. I didn’t realize it at the time but the Hardy Boys were a couple of xenophobic borderline racists and, we now know, they were closeted homosexuals.

Gasp. Not that it matters but it is kinda funny looking back. If you think about it, they didn’t really hang with their girl friends, they really like to hang out with Chet and Biff. Chet went to art camp in my favorite book, The Haunted Fort and Biff, as the Joe Hardy was fond of saying, had “muscles of steel”. Who knew. I think I probably had 20 or so of those books laying around the house when I was growing up, not sure where they landed. Mrs S has a few Cherry Ames books down in the basement, she got them from one of her Aunts, the same person who first exposed her to the candy striper with logical head for solving crimes adult men couldn’t. And while Mrs S has retired from the nursing profession lo these 18 years, she has maintained her interest in crime fighting, which she does today vicariously through her “stories”, her love of mysteries in film, TV and in print.

To the point that she’s not all that fun to watch a mystery with because she has it figured out way before I do.

I did have one role model, kinda, growing up. I thought my Dads brother was about the coolest guy around. Wonderful family man, cool house deep in the heart of Texas, great career as an anesthesiologist, well loved in the community, unfortunately I lacked a certain gumption when it came to the world of academia, especially when it came to math and science. Sort of an idiot savant without much savant. But I might have got the family part right, my kids seem to be doing ok.. then again that’s more their mother than I, I think they’ll remember me as a raging lunatic who liked to yell at them for thing not flushing the toilet.

I’m still looking for my inspiration, and at this point time is running out. At 50 I’d'a thunk I’d'a figga’d it out, apparently not. I have two books I’ve recently read that are inspiring on some level. Saul Bellows Henderson the Rain King. What’s better than an middle aged man, in his midlife crisis, his inner voice saying I want, I want, I want… who goes to Africa and clusterfucks his way through one village to another, eventually becoming an unwilling King of a tribe and winds up going home to get away from the responsibility, still wondering about fulfillment.

The other book I’ve found interesting of late, oddly enough, the Book of Samuel, I and II. Yeah I cracked a Bible, a readable translation of the Hebrew Bible from the Jewish Publication Society to read about David. Why? Because I recently overheard a discussion about David and his flaws, his strengths and his own personal midlife crisis, so I thought I’d check it out.

Very interesting. He kills a Philistine, and later lives among them to hide out from the king he will eventually ursurp. Sends a husband to his death in war so he can marry his wife, has one kid kill another and finally winds up with absolute power over his kingdom and yet, no control over his family or the course of events in his own life and is a miserable old dude.

David had the same nagging question if you ask me, I want, I want, I want and like Henderson, and a certain fat ass 50 year old, couldn’t answer it either. I guess angst is all part of the process of growing up and out.

 

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October 31, 2012 · 6:58 pm

Halloweening through the Mid Life Crisis

Halloween snuck on me this year. I didn’t really realize that the day was here until I got home from work. Candy was already out in the bowls ready for the yoots. Good thing someone around here remembered left to me we’d be pass’n out washers and Winston’s, a pretty sweet night for a handy 10 year old with a smoking habit. Actually, come to think of it, Halloween is a pretty good way to get rid of alot of crap in the house, put all that shit into the pillowcases and plastic Jack-O-Lanterns and let the kiddies haul it away one piece at a time. Something for next year.

“Old phone charger for you, here’s a paint stick for you, huh? What’s that? That’s a Mills Fleet Farm Painter hat from the State Fair, it’s circa 1997 which makes if cooler. Now go and STAY OFF THE DAMNED LAWN!!!”

Frankly Halloween ain’t what it used to be. There was a time when this neighborhood was packed with kids, and the damned doorbell rang incessantly. I used to take the screen out of the storm door to celebrate the holiday and make candy passing easier. Halloween was a good time to do it since it was about time to switch the winter glass door.

Glass door. Glass storm door.

Halloween in Minnesota is a little different than it was when we lived in California. Back there kids didn’t have to throw a parka over their costumes. ‘Round here there are years where every kid looks like the Michelin Man, all bundled up, unable to bend their arms or bend at the waist as the waddle around the neighborhood looking for food. Bunch of short little zombies if you ask me.

But alas, the empty nest syndrome that I’ve been bitching about at my house this year has affected the entire neighborhood. Old Forrest Park here in Agrestic Valley doesn’t have the critical mass of kids it once did, as a matter of fact I think we have about three. It’s all a bunch old folks like us, kids leaving or gone.

And so I find myself this fine all hallows eve. The weather is perfect, temps are in the 40′s and there’s not a breath of wind. There just aren’t any kids.

Maybe it’s all the years I passed out Dots and Raisinettes. Maybe it’s the park. My backyard is right against the infamous Alimagnet Park, listed as one of Minnesota’s most haunted places. Who knew. Instead of kids these days on Halloween we tend to get a few ghost hunters back there with fancy cameras and weird devices that claim to sense changes in the spiritual aural spectrum or some damn thing. I’ve been walking that park for years and I’ve never seen a ghost,  back there. You want to see something scary, look at my fuck’n lawn, it’s damed scary. Scary because the stupid lawn service I bought this year killed it and my neighbor decided to sod his lawn making mine look.. much worse. Can’t wait for the great lawn equalizer, snow.

I’m in-between the trick or treat set, my kids are too old and I don’t have any grandkids to worry about. I’ve been resigned to sitting around in anticipation of the doorbell when I get to hoist my fat ass up to go give them kids some sugga. Problem is, the bell never rings. Actually that is in part due to the fact that we don’t have a doorbell at this very moment. I bought a wireless doorbell a while back, we had re-sided the house and the electrician wanted a couple large to rewire the thing. I got a wireless one for like $30.00. Sweet, until the thing went all wonky one day. Imagine this, push the doorbell and the garage door goes up. Push it again and the coffee maker starts beeping. Not the most secure situation. Finally neither the doorbell or the garage worked and for a $300 house call from the Sears Flake I learned that I needed a new AAA battery in the doorbell and a new D cell in the ringer. Simple enough and as soon as I remember I’ll get some batteries and fix them. However since all this went down in 2009 and we have somehow lived without a doorbell for 3 years I’m not going to be in the biggest of hurries if you know what I mean.

“biggest of hurries?” Mrs S would ask, “as compared to what please?”

Shut up.

I still buy candy like it’s 2003, in anticipation of the hundreds of kids we used to get, but they’re just not there. . Last year we had 3 groups of kids. This year… well this year here we are at 7:50 and I have yet to have to put down my beer and go fill and order for Trick of Treat. Instead I sit here in the quiet house, watching the Bride of Frankenstein, beer in my hand, empty one or four on the floor around me. I have the bowl of candy sitting next to me, all the Paydays and Almond Joys have been picked out, the wrappers all over the sofa testimony to the fact that they weren’t in fact passed out to kids, as I just fibbed to my wife.

Life was more fun when I didn’t give a shit about how much sugar I had in one sitting.

Halloweening through the Mid LIfe Crisis.

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June 2, 2012 · 10:52 am

A Mountain Climber Reaches 50

Dear readers- I’ve been thinking about this for awhile, one of those pieces that wrote in my head about 10 times before I was able to get it down. Think if it as Deep Thoughts brought on by another milestone passed, or as the piece would say, another hill summited.

The great state of Hawai’i where our president was supposed to have been born, [sic] has the tallest mountain on the planet, if measured from base to top, Mauna Kea. Measured from the ocean floor to it’s peak at over 13,000 feet, it would be 10,000 feet taller than Everest if it started on dry land. Next door the volcano Mauna Loa, which though 120 feet shorter than Mauna Kea, is the most massive shield volcano on the planet in terms of area covered. The weight of these two massive mountains is literally compressing the earths crust beneath them.

West and north of these two the Hawaiian islands get smaller and and smaller, the islands older and older, the volcanic activity further and further in the past  and by the time you pass Kauai and Niihau the Hawaiian Island chain becomes isolated rocks, reefs, atolls and finally the Emperor sea mounts which stretch all the way to Russia. All of these were once mountains.

I was chatting with an old friend yesterday, a person about the same stage in life I am, same place with kids, same age, and one who knows me pretty well despite our relationship being more on the professional side than personal. But this is one of those guys who, were circumstances different I would want to spend more social time with, he’s a bucket filler as I told my son yesterday.

We were reminiscing a bit, talking about the kids, the career and about being at a stage in life where things seem a little weird.

His word.

But the more I think about it, it’s dead on. This is a weird time, 50. The proverbial halfway point.

I can go Bing and pull up a dozen different clichés about what you’re supposed to go through in each decade of your life. Inevitably they all say the same thing, at 20 be wild and find a partner, at 30 work on you career and your family, at 40 work on success, a euphemism for money in most cases,  at 50 work on your legacy and 60 work on your, shit I don’t know, your legacy some more. And most of them end at 70 or 80 when you work on your memory and your sex drive, and passing gas, many of them have something about wearing purple for some reason.

Purple, like prince. Personally I want to wear blaze orange when I’m 80 so they can find me easier out in the street when snow melts in the spring.

But I digress.

50 seems to be the stage in life where the number of new opportunities and paths which manifest themselves at any given time is no longer greater than the number of those which are no longer possible.

There’s just things I won’t or can’t do anymore, paths blocked by the things I no longer have; time, willingness to take risk, and a certain clarity of vision brought on by age and experience.

And that I think, is what makes it weird.

The good news is, age and experience provide a wonderful internal compass, which really does enable me to see the best in the things available and helps me to avoid the ones that are not so great. It also means that things I find now, I’m able to take far more pleasure in and they’re far richer experiences than most of the opportunities I had even a few years ago.

Now I’ve been extremely fortunate to never have had to face any kind of great hurdles, my path has been easy, and perhaps of my own making. I recently read a sales pitch some stupid seminar “are you living life to it’s fullest or taking the path of least resistance.”

That thought makes me a little uncomfortable to be honest.

Here’s how I’m thinking about, being an analogy kind of guy-

When you’re young the world looks like a series of mountains to climb. There’s always one right in front of you and a hundreds more around you.  If I’ve learned anything over the years it’s this- there is a unbreakable rule in mountain climbing, the fastest way to tops of all the peaks in a range is take them one at a time. While you can start many at once you can only arrive at the top, one peak at a time.

Along the way of course every mountain has several paths to the top, some easy and some hard. Some peaks are higher than others, some routes require pitons and equipment and help from a team, some peaks you can climb in a day in a pair of sandals. Sometimes there’s rock slides some times storms come up and hinder your progress.

What I like about this stage of life…and time, and the experience that comes with time, is the understanding of how erosion works. Like the Hawaiian islands, today massive seemingly immovable mountains, sturdy as a rock so to speak, will one day be gone. I won’t live to see it, but even the great Mauna Kea, all 13,000 feet of her, towering over the oceans around her, will one day slip back beneath the waves, replaced by the next generation of volcano’s to pass over the hole in the earths crust that gave birth to the entire chain. Assuming of course it they weren’t born in Kenya or Indonesia and have appropriate long form birth certificates and meet the criteria of the Secretary of State of the not so great State of Arizona. Just say’n.

Even the might Everest, still growing as the Indian plate slides under China, will one day begin shrinking and will become a steppe.

 

So here we are at 50.  I get to stand on the peaks I’ve climbed, and I’ve found that they’re  not nearly as high as I thought they were. I’m not completely satisfied with my progress or the accomplishment of reaching, not “the” top, but rather “A” top. I found that for the most part the path to the top was not as bad as it looked when I was at the bottom looking up. And I’ve found that the view from up here, is like the view from the top of Everest, a vast horizon of other peaks and mountains.

But at 50ish I realize I ain’t going to get them all, and the best part is, I’m totally cool with that.

Thanks for your indulgence.

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April 21, 2012 · 6:17 am

Midlife Crises-Revisited

As I was sitting on the bus yesterday, I saw an article that the Minneapolis Police Department is auctioning off all of their motorcycles. They’re disbanding the motorcycle unit. Which is only about 6 bikes but you know. Now that I think about it after 18 years of living here in the Land of the Loon, it hit me that I really don’t see motorcycle cops, I guess someone decided that since the season here is about 4 months at best maybe it was better that the constabulary conduct their business from the safety and warmth of late model American automobiles.

As I read the article two things struck me, 1) Harley to 2) Loaded. So they’re auctioning them all off. These are some nice bikes. And they’re “cop” bikes.

This started the following train of thought:

- I’m nearly 50 years old.
- The kid are just about gone. True I have a 14 year old but she spends all her time in her room and I never see her anyway so, she’s kinda gone.
- I could live on the open road, grow a beard, care not about anything and get by on like $1100 a year. I have family members that make it on that.
- I’ve never really done anything in the last 28 years where I’ve answered the mental question “What would my wife say” with the rebellious answer “Fuck it”.

BTW just thinking that way kinda scared me because to be honest, because A0 she has proven to be able to read my mind more times that I can count and B)  I’m not sure I’ve ever done anything where at some point I’ve said to myself “what would my wife say?” Yes I am owned.

How long did I expect to be married anyway? My second wife, who I haven’t met yet, is probably just graduating from college somewhere and if I don’t get out there and look for her I may never find her.

Wow

Talk about walking right to the edge of the cliff. Where did all this come from?

Now, for the first time, I “get” the midlife crises old fat guys experience. They act on their impulses.

Relax, I’m not going to act on my impulses, had I don’t that we’d be panning gold in British Columbia about now. I’m not leaving my 1st and current wife, but I gotta tell ya the thought of one them Harley’s sure sounds cool. I would absolutely ROCKET up the cool ladder, one last explosion of testosterone laced old-guy super cool, devil may care, rebellious coolness. I get a little weepy just thinking about it.

IMG_0695And like a Super Nova of dudedeness it would all fade away and just like I’m sure I’ll be wearing crocs and black socks and umbrella hats and Mrs S will have to execute the standing order I have in our marriage contract that when I start wearing shit like that, she is to put a bullet in the back of my head, or smother me with my pillow. My younger lucid self would not me living like that.

Harley. Cop Harley. Imagine pulling up to a drawbridge opening and saying to no one in particular, “It’s got cop suspension, cop tires, cop shocks..”

Can’t stop a fella from dreaming.

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June 26, 2011 · 7:13 pm

When Lov’n You becomes a problem

Admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery they say. So here goes, I’m admitting I have a problem, two problems actually, which are causing unnecessary angst at home, and both are embarrassing. If I talk about them here, maybe together we can work through this.

Here goes.

I’m fat. No news there. But I’ve been thinking long and hard about getting back on Weight Watchers. Thinking really hard and making some half hearted attempts to do so, except….

I developed a weird fetish for old fashioned glazed donuts.

Seriously.

Crispy sided, deep fried, cake batter, sugar glazed old fashioned donuts. The kind that are usually left over in the box when a dozen assorted donuts show up at a meeting. I can’t figure it out, I used to hate the things and now…

And now they are my downfall. Recently the family attempted an intervention. Kid went out, bought a few of the little circles of death, put them in a bag on the table and set a couple mousetraps in the bag. Worked for the dog and garbage, should work for the big guy. Well, jokes on them, with my Rheumatoid issues in my fingers these days, with the exception of the constant deep ache I experience, my fingers are pretty numb, so a few mouse traps is hardly a deterrent. I just release myself, lick the sugar of the trap and move on to the next donut.

I did notice that my Cabela’s catalogue was opened to the section with dog training collars and I thought I heard my oldest whispering into the phone “uh.. the dog is like 235 lbs, how much voltage will we need” and “do they lock someway so he, er the dog, can’t take it off?”

Yeah well be sleeping with one eye open for while.

So forget the donuts, this would a minor detour that I can fix any time I want to. ANY TIME. I WANT.

Bigger problem for the family…

And, I don’t know how this happened, but I’ve developed a very weird and disturbing need to listen to, and I’m so ashamed to admit this that I can’t stand it, I’m listening to Kiss.

Yeah, that Kiss- Kabuki makeup, 9” platform shoes, Destroyer, Detroit Rock City, Firehouse, Love Gun, 70’s rock ballads.

Seriously, I’m listening to them in the car, at home, on the bus, at the lake, while I clean, while I write, while I cook, while I talk to my wife, and

It’s

Driving

Her

Absolutely

Crazy.

Kids too. Which sort of falls into the “good” side of the equation… but never mind that now, Mrs S is not amused.

If she hears Firehouse, my current #1 song on the Sank Playlist one more time she has threatened to move out or kill me when I’m sleeping depending on her mood at the time.

Firehouse…  as good in 2011 as it was 1974 except, and this is the part where this whole damn thing gets weird, I wasn’t exactly a big Kiss fan in 1974. I was in the like, the 8th grade and Kiss was a dangerous alternative metal type band that I was a little afraid off, and only the cool kids listened too, when they’re parents would allow it. Heh, if they only knew what was coming.

This was also the song where Gene Simmons, who I should note had a Bar Mitzvah and was born in Israel, would blow fire out of his mouth and occasionally set his hair on fire.

Good times.

How does a close to 50 year old guy with music tastes as varied and subtle as mine suddenly develop an affinity  for a band like Kiss? Maybe the easy to play hard rock riffs, the rock ‘n roll attitude, the tie back to simpler times?

Last night Mrs S got in the car as we were heading out for dinner, I had the iPod hooked up and was enjoying “Duce” as she got into the car. “More Kiss?” she asked. “Yup” “Must we?” I looked deep into her eyes, “Honey, ‘I was made for loving you’”. She looked at me, with that look that says “pathetic” and said “You gotta fix yourself, this isn’t right”.

OK, I can stop any time I want, I swear.

Haven’t cued up Aerosmith in a while, I wonder how that will play.

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June 12, 2011 · 8:14 am

Next up, My Mid-LIfe Crisis

Now that the Bat Miztvah is over we Sankarys, or rather this Sankary, can focus on my next major milestone. The Mid Life Crisis. I’ve been putting this off for several years now because I’m neurotic enough with my hypochondria, healthy sense of doom and bouts of melancholy I’ve been plagued with since my parents first told me that I was a wonderful baseball player in spite of going Oh for the Third grade and being the first seven year old to happily ride the pine for last 9/10ths of the Jr Babe Ruth baseball season.

Lesson was, people lie, even parents lie and if they lie G-d only knows what else they’re capable off, and therefore, I always sleep with one eye open. Which probably has more to do with my sleep apnea issues that anything else.

What’s prompting all this introspection of late? Could be this morning as I was staring at the ass end of a weevil sticking out of my shredded wheat as it sat on my spoon, a thought that came to mind, how did I get to this? Not the bug in the cereal, how did it get to the point that I’m happily gobbling down the worlds worst cereal in order to increase my fiber intake.

Fiber being just one of list of things I never thought much about back the good old days.

Achieving middle age brings on a lot of new, and not always positive or beneficial thoughts. I don’t remember thinking about stuff in my 20’s, no brains/no headaches was one recipe for joy. The morons I know seem to be having more fun in life than the thinkers. Harsh truth.

I have more time on my hands to think about shit these days it seems. Hell, just waiting for my birth year to scroll up while filling in online forms is good for about a half hour a day.

So, what does an old guy think about? Well, there’s always the Big Chill Syndrome. The first time an acquaintance, no matter how distant, goes down with a heart attack or some serious cancer, especially the back door variety for men, it seems to set into motion a self destructive chain of thinking that makes getting up every morning and every trip to the can an exercise in self diagnostics, even if the answer is “whew, all clear”.

I remember when I didn’t even know there was an obituary page in the paper much less find myself pissed off reading it because some obit for some stranger who just happened to be about my age failed to include cause of death in the copy. When did I start obsessing about cause of death? When I started thinking about my own, that’s when.

I wanna check off causes of death that I don’t think I need to worry about. There’s some solace in learning that most people my age are cacking from something other then something I can get. “Died of Ebola after a trip to Congo”.. I’m safe from that.. it’s been ages since I shared an elevator with anyone who was bleeding out through every orifice.  However, I hear about the neighbors brothers neighbor in Iowa who collapsed after shoveling the driveway some winter day and BAM.. I gotta sit down ‘cause the room is swirling.

Whenever I read about heart attacks or the dreaded ass cancer, it’s like the reaper’s already at the front door. Clearly it’s a control issue, those hidden diseases are like a thief in the night, you never see them coming. Ironically “was killed in car accident”, a cause of death for people my age that occurs at a much higher rate than either heart attack, cancer or ebola, doesn’t even phase me because, well the middle aged brain can easily rationalize that one away because I’m a good driver and that’s never going to happen to me.

Have another bowl of fiber I think I feel something growing…

Here’s another Middle Age Curse- I’ll call it the curse of wisdom. Wisdom that comes from experience is curse when you’re dealing with people who haven’t benefited from years of experience. I hate to be right sometimes all the time, especially when the only possible outcome of a given situation is bad.

Case in point, kid bought himself an Audi. Being old and wise I knew two bad things were going to come of this. 1) He would buy the car no matter what I said or did and 2) it would be an expensive car for a college kid with no job to afford. So I said the three magic words of wisdom; “Please. Don’t. Stop.”

I said them quietly so as not to get myself in trouble because nobody’s going to listen anyway, but for the sake of my eternal soul I have to pretend to make an effort sometimes. And then when the kid finds out an oil change is $503.00 and new sparkplugs are $106 each and that they can only be installed by guys named Dieter who make more in a minute than dear old dad does in week, it’s so very hard to suck it up look down and offer the other three magic words wisdom “I was right”.

Which sound a lot like “I told you so”, a phrase that Mrs S has some genetic modification which enables her to sense those words from a mile away, EVEN before I can even form them on my lips.

And the reaction is always swift and terrible.

However, here’s an interesting benefit I found in Middle Age, the Marital Power Shift. I’ve learned two things about marriage and power. There’s a lot of power in marriage and I don’t much of it. Almost no one my gender does, and according to my father, never will except.. the moron crowd. And since I’ve already established that they’re happier than the rest of us..

But in our middle age we can hope, cautiously for course, to achieve détente.

Here’s how this typically happens. There’s only a couple things in a marriage that folks consistently fight about I’ve noticed, sex and money. And typically one partner is very concerned about one, and the other partner is very concerned about the other, and no one is good at both. Not that I’m suggesting anything about my marriage, but I’ve done an enormous amount of field research in this area, typically employing alcohol to ensure accuracy. The data I’ve accumulated has come through countless interviews and surveys I’ve conducted over the years. It would be my pleasure to share with you what I’ve observed.

There is 99.05% correlation between gender and thing a partner cares about, sex or money. I don’t want to give away the results ‘cause you might stop reading, it might be a surprise for someone.

The Power Shift as I call it, typically occurs in ones mid 40’s. In one seminal moment the marriage changes completely. It happens like this, the female partner will, as they say “make a move”, initiate whoppie what ever you want to call it, and the male partner will say some version of the following

“not tonight, I’m getting up early” or some other excuse.

And you thought you felt the earth move before.

For the dude words I’ve heard to describe this are “emancipated”, “free”, my friend Eric said “the shackles came off”. In his case I’m not sure we were talking about the same thing as he’d been drinking and I’m pretty sure I saw fur lined handcuffs under his sofa years ago.

For women the experience is very different. Most of them haven’t been turned down since before they were married, and this event is often the trigger for their own little mid-life crises. Where as we men look for motorcycles, fast cars or au pairs with poor eyesight and expensive tastes to regain the feelings of our youth, the female mid life crisis is different. It involves a lot of glances at their behinds and upper arms in the mirror and engaging intense study of their upper lips for some reason. That and they start calling their mothers for advice for the first time in 20 years.

What’s the big deal? One of the subjects I interviewed noted, “we spend 25 years working out a perfectly good system of rewards and all of a sudden HE decides he wants to go for a bike ride instead?” Another one of my wives friends summed her feelings on her first “not tonight” event; all I could think was how in the hell am I going to get anything done around here anymore.

You’re going to get things done the same way we men have done it, through open and honest negotiations. This could be one of the few benefits of getting older.

 

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